


Nobody, Not Even The Rain

by tuhressuh



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuhressuh/pseuds/tuhressuh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Harry whispers poetry to Louis in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody, Not Even The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic and the poem Harry reads are from the song Nobody, Not Even The Rain by La Dispute because today I listened to it and decided that it was something that should be whispered between lovers. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Writers lie, just like your parents.

Sometimes, Harry whispers poetry to Louis in bed.

Regardless of what city they’re sleeping in that night, or what they were doing previously in that bed, it happens when they’re about to tip off into sleep, a tangle of limbs and late-night emotion. It keeps Louis grounded, hearing Harry whisper the sometimes nonsensical verses into his ear; lets him know that anywhere on the globe, through anything that happens, Harry will be there to lull him to sleep with whatever bouquet of words he decides to memorize that week. (A few weeks ago, in Chicago, they got into a fight over something stupid that he can’t even remember now, and that night Harry had held him close and whispered the words of W.H. Auden’s “Funeral Blues.” Louis cried and forgave him immediately.)

Tonight, the show was fucking exhausting. The tour has already been taking its toll on each and every one of the boys, but there was some freak technical difficulties at the venue tonight, slowing everyone down, pulling and twisting at their already frayed nerves. They were all ready to murder each other by the end of it, antagonizing and snapping at each other every few seconds until they reached the hotel and entered their separate rooms as fast as possible.

In their room, Harry and Louis immediately strip down and lazily flop into their bed, too tired to even brush their teeth, let alone have sex. Assuming the normal cuddling position also takes too much effort, Harry decides, and instead just sleepily scoots backward until his bum bumps Louis’ crotch in what is quite possibly the least sexy way ever and Louis throws an arm around his hips.

Harry begins running the tips of his fingers lightly over Louis’ caramel skin the way he always does right before he starts to recite and Louis yawns, burrowing his face into the warm softness of Harry’s neck. 

“I know that someday you’ll be sleeping, darling, likely dreaming off the pain,” Harry begins in his tired whisper that makes any poem exponentially better from Louis’ point of view and Louis smiles a bit because this isn’t by anyone he’s ever studied it school. The obscure ones are always his favorite to listen to because he can imprint into those words any meaning he so pleases, not the beaten-to-a-pulp, overly-analytic textbook meaning that was hammered into his brain as a teenager and ruined any and all of the emotions of many a poem for Louis. 

“I hope you hear me in the streetlight’s humming, softly breathing out your name.   
I know that even with the scars stitched tightly, darling, scars will remain.” Like many of the poems, Louis isn’t really sure he entirely gets this one, but it obviously meant a lot to Harry if he thought to share it with Louis like this, so intimately, so Louis just keeps his eyes closed and enjoys the way it sounds in Harry’s voice. 

“I say we scrape them from each other, darling, and let them wash off in the rain,” Harry murmurs as he rounds the beak of the bird on Louis’ arm, touch feather-light.

“And when they run into the river, oh no, let the water not complain.” Harry’s hand runs down Louis’ arm and he slides his fingers in the perfectly fit spaces between Louis’, who squeezes his hand tightly and affectionately. 

“I swear that even with the distance, slowly wearing out your name,  
Your hands still catch the light the right way, and  
our hearts still beat the same. Oh, our hearts still beat the same.” Harry finishes as Louis drifts off, knowing that everything will be okay because like Harry just said, their hearts still beat the same.


End file.
